Meet the Fiancee
by SweetDeamon
Summary: Of course she doesn't always run quite this quickly, her heart doesn't always race so violently against her ribcage and she doesn't grow breathless as she finally nears the little desk at the corridor's elusive end. But then again she isn't always running to see him. She isn't always merely running out of habit. No, today she is running out of pure panic. NTOC RLNT AU


_Note: This is a one shot set in the Meet the... series and does not stand alone – you have been warned! It is set between the end of Meet the Daughter and the beginning of Meet the Squib._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. _

**Meet the Fiancée **

She realises as she shoulder barges her way through the double doors at a near-sprint that she seems to spend a disproportionate amount of her time running down corridors like this, clinical white washed corridors that seem to stretch on forever, growing longer with every foot she slams down onto the pale tiled floor...

Running is a habit. She does it every time, for everybody regardless. It's stupid, she supposes, and downright unnecessary most of the time, but a habit nevertheless. Sometimes she thinks people appreciate her urgency, are glad to think she cares.

Of course she doesn't always run quite this quickly, her heart doesn't always race so violently against her ribcage and she doesn't grow breathless as she finally nears the little desk at the corridor's elusive end.

But then again she isn't always running to see him. She isn't always merely running out of habit.

No, today she is running out of pure panic. Sheer desperation.

Because Robert Wilde has never been just another fellow Auror. Not to Dora Lupin, at least.

It has been years since she last ran to him, years since Robert last landed himself in St. Mungo's Hospital...

She can remember the last time as if it were yesterday. She had burst into the ward, breathless and panting having received word of his hospitalisation via a scrawled note on a piece of pink Ministry memo paper. She had discovered him propped up in his hospital bed, upper torso swathed in bandages but otherwise in good cheer.

"Bloody hell, Tonks," he'd sniggered, grinning broadly as she'd reached to lean heavily upon the end of the bed with a muttered curse at his good cheer. "Where's the fire?!"

"They said you were injured!" she'd informed him accusingly, and he'd glanced meaningfully down at his bandages and raised an eyebrow, prompting her to add: "Badly!"

"Well it is rather painful..." he'd started to admit, stifling a yawn into a hand, and she'd slumped further against the bed and informed him:

"I thought you were bloody _dying_, Robert!"

And Robert had sighed dramatically and reminded her:

"Well you always have been a touch melodramatic, haven't you?" As she had stumbled around the side of the bed to sink down onto a plastic chair, he had frowned deeply and wondered: "Aren't you supposed to be up in front of the Wizengamot this afternoon?"

And she had scowled and snapped:

"Oh sod off!" When he simply grinned again she told him: "You could at least have the good grace to pretend you're in agony, you know."

"Why? Am I a waste of your valuable time otherwise?"

"Yes, as it happens! I walked out in the middle of the court's opening statements to leg it over here! The Wizengamot's going to have my head on a bloody spike!"

And at this news he had graciously collapsed further back against his pillows, reaching to fling a dramatic hand up towards the ceiling as he declared:

"In which case...ah! I can see a...a b...a bright light! Merlin help me, it's getting closer! I think...I think, Tonks...I think I might be slipping away..."

She had stifled a snigger herself then and offered:

"I could give you a push if you like!"

He'd thrown her out after just a few minutes, claiming he fancied catching forty winks before he got himself discharged.

It had been the same beginning, this time. The same piece of fluttering pink memo paper interrupting her work to inform her of his misadventure.

This time she had been sat in her office, staring blankly at the mound of paperwork that was piled up upon her desk, shamefully close to nodding off to sleep in her chair, knowing full well that she could probably get away with it too because there were very few people around to catch her napping. The vast majority of the Auror department had been vacated. Head of Aurors Harry Potter was in a meeting with the Minister for Magic. The Auror cadets were under the watchful eyes of Isaac Graham and Ron Weasley in the gymnasium, whilst most of the qualified Aurors were out participating in one of the largest raids to be conducted in the last few years. Dora, drowning under the weight of paperwork that had piled up over the past week whilst she had been organising the raid in question, had delegated leadership on the day to Robert.

Her forehead had just come to rest upon the paperwork-cushioned desk when she felt the little pink paper crash land into the side of her head, embedding itself in her hair. She had groped around to pull it free, head still upon the table, before reluctantly sitting up to squint down at the message.

It had made her blood run instantly cold.

And within minutes she was running.

The world becomes blurry, muffled, all except her steady footfalls, or perhaps it is simply her heartbeat thudding ever louder in her ears. But as she nears the end of the corridor she forces her pace to slow, forces her eyes to blink the world back into focus. Because she needs to clear her head, to think about her next move and yet she realises soon enough that her mind must still be foggy because what happens next very nearly ruins everything.

Stumbling to a halt before the little desk, causing the curly haired witch dressed in healers' robes to look up from her work, she manages to gasp:  
"Robert Wilde. I'm here to see Robert Wilde."

The healer's expression grows instantly grave, but nevertheless she dutifully explains:

"I'm afraid Mr. Wilde is in no fit state for visitors..."

"You have to let me in!" Dora insists breathlessly. "I'm...I'm a relation!"

She feels quite frantic at the slow, deliberating way in which the healer looks down to examine her papers and very nearly bites through her tongue in frustration when she is told:

"According to our records Mr. Wilde doesn't have any living relatives...his mother is listed as next of kin, but she died over a year ago..."

She wants to argue, wants to point out how utterly ridiculous the system is because surely it is cruel to simply leave Robert lying in a hospital bed without a soul in the world to sit and comfort him, but she doesn't have time, she simply has to be there, has to see him...

And before she can quite register her own movements, Dora finds herself reaching to slip the wedding ring from her finger, shoving it determinedly into her pocket before thrusting her hand forward for the healer's inspection to reveal a lonely engagement ring upon her finger.

"I'm Robert's fiancee." she declares rather fiercely, feeling both alarmed and pleased with her lie all at once as the healer's expression softened.

"I see, yes...yes of course you must go and sit with him, Miss...?"

She picks a name at random, the first one that comes in her head...

"Moody." Robert will laugh at this, she is sure. If he is in any state for laughter, that is, and Merlin she hopes he'll shake with it, just like before...

"First name?" the healer asks, scribbling notes.

"Dora." She can't think straight enough to be too creative.

She wonders if her hair has grown as mousy as she expects it has, for her usual hair would give her away. People know of her these days, they can sometimes recognise her, the Deputy Head of Aurors with the brightly coloured hair. The one who married a werewolf, the one who was in the Order of the Phoenix...

Her hair must be as bleak as she feels because she waits for her lie to be discovered, for the woman behind the desk to claim: _I know who you really are_, but it doesn't come. Instead the woman gestures over to the door to her right and tells her:

"He's just in there, dear. Do take care, won't you? It's a nasty shock, I know, but try and be strong for his sake."

She feels abruptly paralysed as she turns to look at the door.

"How...how bad is it?" she wonders, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to steel her nerves.

"Did you not speak to the Welcome Witch?" the healer asks, as if she wishes to avoid the gruesome business herself.

"Not...not at any length, no." Dora admits, recalling the Welcome Witch in questions shouting furiously after her as she ran out of the hospital's reception having upset the entire waiting room by barging her way to the front of the queue. "There was a...an explosion...? He got caught up in it...?"

"I'm afraid it left him quite...quite badly...well..."

Dora wants to scowl at this supposed healer who seems incapable of revealing the cold, hard facts, instead she simply asks:

"Is he conscious?"

"Yes..."

"And is he...you know..." Dora doesn't know herself, not really. She feels rather sick trying to think of precisely what she wants to know and settles rather hesitantly on: "Is he...all there? Is...is all of him there?"

"I'm...I'm afraid not, Miss Moody. His...his legs were...well..."

"Thank you."

She can't hear the end of the sentence. She might vomit, or sob, or even faint. And there isn't time for that. There isn't time to think...

Except that it's too late. She's thought of it, pictured it in her mind...

She takes a few shuffling steps towards the door and stops. Because it just seems too hard, much too difficult to venture through that door on her own. She wonders how quickly her husband would apparate to the hospital if she were to send word to him of her dilemma, or who else she might ask, who might come sooner...

She briefly considers asking the healer to accompany her, but the notion dies a swift death and she realises she is entirely on her own. She squeezes her eyes shut, reaches to push the wedding ring further down into her pocket and tries desperately to convince herself for a moment that her lies are true.

She'll kid herself, she swears, because her lies will bring her strength.

Starting with her name.

No true Moody would be so squeamish. That was a fact of nature. Alastor Moody never ran down hospital corridors, she suspects, he'd probably only ever graced them with a firm, stomping stride. He'd probably done it loads of times, just as she had over the years, and it would never matter how badly injured his colleagues were, he'd march straight into the room, looked them straight in the eye and not been intimidated or afraid in the slightest. No Moody would feel sick to the stomach at the thought of lost limbs. Indeed, losing limbs was probably a family trait too.

Robert was probably mad to want to marry anybody sharing any sort of genes with Alastor Moody.

Dating her to begin with had probably been mental enough. But that didn't matter. They were engaged now, he'd asked her to marry him. They were in love. They were going to stay together forever, 'till death do us part.

In sickness and in health.

Dora had always been good at this part. In fact it doesn't take much acting. It isn't hard to convince herself at all.

It doesn't matter how sickly Robert looks, it doesn't matter if the explosion has blown his legs clear off him, if he is blood-soaked or struggling to breathe. He is still the same man she has always known.

And of course she is his fiancee. She loves him, she will love him always, unconditionally, no matter what...

And with that, fooled by her own lies, Dora strides over to the door, grasped hold of the door handle, plastered a suitably neutral expression onto her face, before opening the door...

Robert is awake, propped up by a mound of pillows, his hands grasping hold of the edges of the bed as if he might fall from it as he sits, pale and wheezing as if every fresh breath might be his last, staring with wide eyes down at his legs.

Or what is left of them. A couple of freshly bandaged stumps, the two limbs having both been severed above the knee, and as she shuffled across the threshold Dora tells herself not to look at them. But she instantly looks anyway.

As her stomach turns and she struggles not to wince, Robert's gaze darts up to see his visitor, and she wonders if he might crack a grin or a joke or something else unfathomable and yet entirely likely for a character like him. She hopes beyond hope that he will do, that he might be stoic because at that moment she herself feels dreadfully weak...

And yet as she meets his gaze her hopes instantly plummet to see his face contort in pure panic. He gasps in a shaky lungful of air and when he speaks his voice is unlike his own, a hollow, fearful sound.

"Tonks...! Oh...oh Merlin! Thank Merlin, I...I thought nobody was coming!"

She grits her teeth against equal hysterics, commands herself to steel her nerves, bolster her strength because he needs it now, before striding purposefully over to his bedside, reaching to grasp hold of him firmly by the arm, only to jump a little when he instantly reaches to grasp her hand with both of his own.

"I thought you weren't coming..."

"Of course I was coming," she insists, trying to sound normal and blasé. "What do you take me for?! I came as soon as I could!"

He seems to relax to hear this, it seems to soothe him and he allows his wide eyes to drift close, drawing in a deep, calming breath.

"I was frightened..." he mumbles, frowning deeply, troubled at the thought.

It troubles Dora too, the idea of him lying there so broken and frightened, all on his own. And he must have been afraid, she realises, utterly petrified to admit to such a thing. After all, Robert never admits to being afraid of anything.

"Well I'm here now." she says, sinking somewhat gingerly down onto the edge of the bed beside him, trying not to think of those missing limbs just behind her, only for the notion of missing something else to become quite overwhelming when he opens his eyes and admits:

"I was frightened. I don't want to die alone."

Her gaze instantly darts to his eyes searchingly, an attempt to judge how serious an assessment of his condition this is, and she sees such a bleak gaze looking back at her that the colour instantly drains from her face.

Because he means it. She can see that he does.

A dreadfully numb sensation descends upon her and she struggles to swallow the lump that has formed in her throat.

Robert dying.

Merlin, it seemed impossible to comprehend.

She didn't want to comprehend it, even. And yet...

"How long do you have?"

"No time at all."

She feels completely overwhelmed, but refuses to allow her composure to crumble. She blinks back the tears springing to her eyes, sucks in a deep, considering breath, and mutters:

"Bugger..."

Robert gives a weak, somewhat shaky huff of laughter, his lips twitching towards a smile.

"Will you stay with me? Until...until the end?" he asks after a moment, grip upon her hand tightening.

She wants to throw her arms around him and declare that she wouldn't dare leave him, not for anything in the world, but instead she forces herself to puff her cheeks, glancing down at the watch upon her wrist.

"Oh I don't know..." she mutters, raising her eyebrows in consideration. "I've got so much bloody paperwork to do..."

He laughs harder, this time, face contorting somewhat as if the action pains him, but his deathly pale face seems brighter for it.

"Pretty please?" he manages to splutter between his amusement, and she finally agrees:

"Oh alright then! But just this once, alright?! Now stop bloody laughing, Robert. You'll get me kicked out! It's a serious business, this...this dying lark!"

It takes him a long moment to stifle his amusement, he laughs and laughs and laughs loudly until he is breathless.

And as she watches him, Dora can no longer stifle her tears, she weeps and weeps and weeps silently until her vision is swimming.

When he has at last regained his composure and she has not a shred of her own left, he eyes her for a long moment before insisting:

"You mustn't cry, Tonks."

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't suit you." When she scowls he tells her: "And I'm not afraid now, not now you're here. So don't cry."

"They didn't want to let me in." she recalls, shifting a little upon her perch and reaching to swipe an obedient hand across her eyes. "I had to lie...tell them I was your fiancee!" She offers him her free hand with a snigger, waggling the lonely engagement ring under his nose, and he grins widely with an exaggerated declaration of:

"Oh! What a lucky man I am!"

"Cursed, more like!"

"I can live with that. Since I'm only living for a little while."

It's strange, Dora thinks, that she is beginning to feel oddly comfortable, oddly ordinary, sitting here on the edge of the bed at his side as if it were any other hospital visit. As if when she leaves she'll tell him she'll see him at work in a day or so.

As if when she leaves he won't be dead.

"I used to feel so glad, sometimes," Robert recalls, eyes drifting closed again as if he too is beginning to relax, "that I never had a wife. I'd be in the most dreadful scraps with work and I'd just think...thank Merlin! Thank Merlin I didn't have somebody sitting at home...worried sick about me!"

"It's a lucky thing you feel that way." Dora teases as he sighs heavily. "You've never managed to keep a girl longer than a week or two!"

"Except you."

"Except me."

"I never really tried with any of the others."

"You didn't try with me, either!"

He draws breath to retort, only for his brow to crease, a moan escaping his lips instead.

"Painkillers are...are wearing off..." he complains, eyes screwed shut.

"So suddenly?" She prises her hand free from his grasp and rises to her feet. "I can fetch somebody..."

"No!" His eyes snap back open and he reaches to grab hold of her by the arm. "Don't...don't leave me, Tonks. Please don't..."

At his abruptly frightened tone she allows him to coax her back to perch upon the bed, reaching to lay a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

"If you say so..."

"You promised."

"I know, it's alright."

"I don't want to be on my own."

"I know. It's just...if you're hurting I could just pop out into the corridor and..."

"No!"  
"Okay. Calm down, eh?" She reaches to sweep the dark hair from his brow, fingers brushing against his clammy skin, and despite the sight of his waxen face and laboured breathing she forces herself to smile and says: "It'll be alright, Robert. I promise."

And it will be in a way, she realises.

Because it will be over soon.

Suddenly there comes the sound of a brief tapping upon the door, and as she turns to look round, Dora sees the door to the little room being pushed open to reveal a short, dumpy looking witch dressed in a smart yet mumsy-looking suit of purple tweed, her hair piled up into a careful knot at the back of her head. The newcomer pauses just inside the doorway for a moment, and as the door swings shut behind her she gazes pityingly at the pair before her through a thin pair of spectacles.

Robert and Dora stare straight back at her.

"Mr. Wilde? Miss Moody?"

To hear of her alias, Dora hears Robert give a rather odd cough that sounds rather more amused than ought be natural, and she promptly digs her fingernails into his arm to shut him up, whilst attempting to offer the woman by the door a vague smile.

The woman reaches to extract a leather bound folder from under her arm, its corners embossed in gold.

"My name is Elsie Blackshaw." she explains kindly, offering the two of them a gentle smile. "I'm the hospital's resident marriage official."

There is a long, rather expectant pause, and Dora's attack upon Robert's arm barely lessens as she feels the need to break it with:

"Oh..."

_Oh indeed_, the witch thinks as Robert's eyes seem to widen a little in realisation.

"The healers sent straight for me when you arrived, Miss Moody," Elsie Blackshaw explains, taking a few steps forward until she is stood at the end of the bed. "It is hospital policy, you see, when a patient is..." she pauses, lips pursed for a brief second before deciding on: "...when a patient is in circumstances such as you are, Mr. Wilde, to provide you with the opportunity to marry. A bedside wedding, you might call it!" She positively beams, then, and Dora and Robert exchange a look.

For half a second they simply stare at one another, panicked, and yet all too soon Robert looks as if he might start to laugh...

"Oh, Robert!" Dora exclaims as the first hints of amusement begin to shine in his eyes, "How wonderful!" She throws her arms around him, crushing his face into her shoulder as she adds meaningfully: "Isn't that fantastic, _my darling_?!"

"Yes..." Robert manages to wheeze, the air knocked clear from his lungs at her abrupt embrace, and he pats her somewhat gingerly upon the back as he struggles to catch his breath. "It's...it's more than fantastic...it's..." He trails off with a splutter, reaching to grasp her by the arms so that he can push her away from him. "I'm lost for words!" He tells the beaming woman stood at the end of the bed, her face positively glowing at the sight of the latest pair of doomed lovebirds she can bring a little joy.

The masquerading lovebirds grin stupidly back at her, not entirely sure what to do next, and just as Elsie Blackshaw draws breath to launch into a series of no doubt alarming and no doubt illegal procedures, Robert reaches to slide an arm around his apparently betrothed and asks:

"D'you think, Ms Blackshaw...perhaps I might..."

She's leaning forward over the bed a little, face eagerly hanging onto every word...

Dora's never seen such enthusiasm for a job in all her life. Of course she'd thought she'd seen the purest dedication and enthusiasm to the institution of marriage when Kingsley and Arthur had managed to track down an official prepared to marry she and Remus illegally...

...and yet despite the danger and peril that man back during the war had faced in order to perform a wedding, his efforts pale in comparison to Elsie Blackshaw's...

Dora is pretty certain that if she isn't careful she might blink and find herself a bigamist...

"Do you think I might just have a moment alone with..." Robert casts an impressively dopey look sideways at Dora as he finishes: "...my fiancee?"

Elsie Blackshaw looks bordering on disappointed, and yet that calm, soothing voice that she has practiced to hide her boundless enthusiasm to the point of seeming professional graciously agrees:

"Of course! Of course you can! You take as long as you need, I'll be just outside!"

"Thank you." Robert says, and as they watch the woman retreat out of the room both he and Dora plaster suitably innocent looks upon their faces...

The door clicks shut behind her.

"Shit!" Dora curses, leaping up from the bed as if she might just be allergic to him, and Robert promptly dissolves into laughter.

"Merlin!" he chuckles, trembling with amusement. "The look on your face!"

"MY face?!" Dora retorts, reaching to rake a hand through her hair. "What about YOUR face?! You looked like somebody shoved a wet-start firework up your arse!"

This only serves to make Robert laugh even louder, only for Dora to snap:

"It's not bloody funny, Robert!"

Robert instantly sobers.

"Don't tell them the truth, for Merlin's sake..." he says, reaching to grab her by the arm, only for her to yank herself free.

"Well I can't bloody marry you, can I?" she mutters, beginning to pace up and down beside the bed. "It's illegal, for one thing! And they'd find me out! They'll know I'm already married as soon as they try to bind us together!"

"But you can't tell them!" Robert insists, grip upon her arm tightening, voice laced with that painful desperation that still seems so alien to her. "They'll...you'll have to leave!"

Dora sighs, reaching to pat him comfortingly upon the arm.

"I won't have to leave, Robert." she assures him, forcing herself to be be calm in an attempt to soothe him. "They might be all for rules and regulations round here, but they're not going to just leave you lying here all on your own! They won't kick me out, they're not totally heartless..."

"You don't know that!"

"Sure I do..."

"No you don't! If you did you wouldn't have lied to them to begin with!"

Dora reaches to rub a weary hand across her brow, frowning deeply.

"Look," she says after a moment, making to pull her arm free from his grasp. "Let me just...let me just go out there and have a word with them, eh? I'm sure they'll understand..."

"You promised you wouldn't leave me!" Robert exclaims, but she yanks her arm free nevertheless and insists:

"For Merlin's sake Robert, calm down! I'll only be gone a moment! Stop being so...you know!"

She wants to say childish, babyish, silly...

Because he is. He's acting like a small child, clinging to her, whining, pleading, and it's nothing like the Robert she knows, nothing like the man she is friends with...

And yet she can't tell him. She simply can't. Not now, not when he is dying. Because who knows how he feels? What's going on in his head? Who's to say she wouldn't act the same?

Perhaps we're all helpless infants, when the time finally comes.

"Take some deep breaths, love." she tells him instead, offering him her hand again, and as he takes it she promises: "It's going to be alright."

And for a few minutes she stands, faintly smiling down at him, wondering quite what to do next, and he lies gazing up at her, his expression growing steadily calmer...faraway...

Then he lets out a small sigh and shakes his head.

"What is it?" she asks, shuffling forward a step, and he gives a somewhat abashed huff and announces:

"I wish you weren't married."

Dora gives a huff of her own, lips twitching towards a grin.

"Yeah...that would be handy right now, wouldn't it?" she agrees, quirking an eyebrow up until it disappears under her fringe, only for her eyebrows to knit together when Robert's expression grows serious and he insists:

"No really, I wish you weren't."

Silence.

Robert toys with swallowing a lump that forms in his throat, finding that it appears to be stuck.

"Right..." Dora mumbles at last, as if she feels she ought say something but has no idea what that something ought be. She waits for him to apologise for making her feel awkward.

He doesn't.

She feels rather angry with him, truth be told. More angry than usual when he chooses to go down this path. It isn't fair of him, really. It isn't fair in the slightest.

Because they both know that they wouldn't have ever worked out. That was why they had given up on a relationship all those years ago before one could really begin.

And they both know that she is happily married, very much so. So much so that the notion of the two of them ever being together is utterly laughable.

They do laugh about it. Frequently.

And he knows how annoying she would have been if the two of them had stayed together, how he would grow tired of her teasing, how awkward work would become after she was promoted above him, how he would resent their lack of time together, how he had always been so afraid of her deciding to leave him for somebody else.

And she knows how annoyed that would have made her, how offensive the notion of disloyalty is to her, how she would have felt suffocated by being with him at work as well as at home, how he did romance a little too predictably, how sometimes it would have all seemed a bit patronising...

She knows he loves her, in his way.

He knows she loves him, in her way.

But that's irrelevant, Dora thinks furiously. They'd been over and over it on countless occasions over the years. It didn't matter if they loved one another, it wasn't the right sort of love for settling down and getting married. It wasn't even the right sort of love for some form of illicit fling, for Merlin's sake!

She finds herself clenching her teeth against muttering something insensitive because she doesn't know quite how he will react, whether or not he'd just laugh like he used to...

She suspects he wouldn't.

His expression is much too serious. And for a second she hates him for it.

She wants to hate him again when he asks her:

"Would you marry me? Right now? If you weren't married already, I mean."

Dora only frowns.

"I think you would." he decides, smiling ever so slightly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Because I'm dying. And you'd pity me."

He makes it sound like an accusation, or perhaps that's simply how she chooses to hear it.

"I wouldn't marry you just because you were dying, Robert!" she tells him, crossing her arms and sounding rather offended.

"Then you wouldn't marry me."

"Yes I would."

"No you wouldn't."

"I would."

"Liar."

"I would! I'd marry you! And it wouldn't be out of pity, either! That would be a crap reason to marry somebody!"

Robert gives a vague huff of laughter, though he sounds somewhat irritated by her claim.

"You said we'd never have worked like that, that we wouldn't work as a married couple." he reminds her, and she feels fleetingly bemused that he chooses to pin this claim solely on her, for they had both said it, they had agreed...

"Just because it would be a stupid thing to do, doesn't mean I wouldn't do it." she points out with a shrug, at last gracing him with a smile because no matter how irritated she feels by his choice of conversation, she is indeed being honest with him. "If I loved you I'd marry you, it would be that simple."

"And do you love me, Tonks?" Robert asks seriously, gazing intently up at her, and she finds herself hesitating for only a brief moment when she tells him:

"Of course I do."

Because she does. She always has.

Not in the way that she loves Remus, of course. There's never been anybody or indeed anything that she could love as much or as deeply as she loves Remus. It's an all-consuming glorious fire that lights up her entire world, emblazons a path that guides her through life and protects her, envelopes her in beautifully fierce flames that make her walk through both the good and bad times positively glowing, a constant warmth and comfort that, when it threatens to burn her, only makes her want to toss more wood on the pile.

It's a candle, what she feels for Robert. A small flickering light as age slowly melts away at them like seeping droplets of wax. It continues to burn, year after year, never changing, never growing and yet never quite snuffed out. It casts a gentle, reassuring glow that she knows will be there always, it dances around the slow burning wick, as they dance around their feelings themselves, and though it seems much too fragile to be relied upon she carries it around with her for it's soft, pleasant glow nevertheless, knowing deep down that it won't burn her as long as she leaves it alone.

Marrying him would have no doubt been foolish, as she has said, but she knows that if she were not spoken for already she would marry him in a heartbeat.

For love.

Robert gives a vague smile, but admits:

"I don't think you do. Not...really..."

"No?"

"No...I think...I think you're just saying it. You don't love me the way that I love you."

And Dora feels a fierce and sudden urge to prove him wrong. Which is just typical, really. It's been that way forever. They can never just agree for the sake of it, agree so as not to disagree...

Robert probably knows it, too. He knows that he's provoking her, knows she'll never settle to have him disbelieve her...

"You're a git, you know." she tells him, giving her head a rather furious little toss. "You really are, Robert! You're a complete and utter git!"

Because now isn't the time for this sort of nonsense. He's bloody dying, for Merlin's sake!

But she can't just be the sensible one and change the subject. It isn't in her nature.

And he knows it, the insufferable little git!

Her annoyance makes her foolish and she abruptly turns her back on him, hands balling into fists as she stalked over towards the door, muttering:

"Right..."

"Where are you going?!" he calls after her, sounding panicked, but she merely snaps:

"Shut up!"

"Tonks! Wait..."

But she's already reached to fling the door open, taking a step out into the corridor, and he thinks she'll disappear from view and never come back, that she's too upset by his words, those forbidden words that have slipped from his tongue once too often for her to stand, that he might be left to lie in this hospital bed to die all on his own...

And then to his shock he hears her call:

"Ms Blackshaw? We're ready now!"

And Robert feels utterly numb, as if the world has slipped ever so slightly out of focus, as if he is dreaming as he watches Dora retreat back into the room, with Elsie Blackshaw and a witch dressed in healers' robes in tow.

The pain coursing through his body, phantom limbs and all, is growing quite overwhelming. And yet he keeps his eyes fixated in awe upon Dora as she comes to perch upon the bed beside him, reaching to take hold of his hands carefully in her own. She smiles down at him, as if she were not playing some sort of game, her dark eyes glistening and ever so slightly watery as if it were all entirely real...

And it feels real.

It all feels real.

This joining of two souls that Elsie Blackshaw begins to speak of in a cheery yet somehow grand tone.

This deep, unconditional love he can see gleaming in Dora's eyes.

This swell of pure adoration in his chest that seems to make his heart slow...

And it is slow. Slow and tired and failing.

Slow and thudding and simply overwhelmed.

And as Elsie Blackshaw asks for a witness to this marriage to declare themselves, which the healer stood by the door obediently does, Robert finds that he has quite forgotten that none of this is real.

Each breath he draws seems terribly laboured, and yet he simply grips his darling's hands and blames in on the butterflies in his stomach as he struggles to repeat his vows.

"I, Robert Francis Wilde..."

"I, Robert...Francis...Wilde..."

"Take thee, Dora...?"

"Allison." Dora supplies at Elsie Blackshaw's uncertain pause, which is as close to Alastor as she can manage, Robert supposes, which makes him choke a little on his words.

...Moody."

"Take thee, Dora..._Allison_...Moody..."

"To be bound to me..."

"To be bound...to me..."

"As my lawful wedded wife."

He think he might hesitate here, thinks reality might shake him, and yet the words slip easily from his as he sucks in another throbbing breath and rasps:

"As my lawful wedded wife."

"To be by my side..." Elsie Blackshaw goes on, and he feels as if he has won some sort of victory to have her fooled.

"To be by my side."

"From now until always."

"From now...until always."

_For better for worse. For richer for poorer. In sickness and in health. _

_I give myself wholly to you._

_So that I may cherish and adore you. _

_In the presence of our unyielding love._

_Till death do us part. _

And before he knows it Elsie Blackshaw has turned to beam at Dora as she happily informs the witch:

"And now it's your turn."

Robert feels a sudden stab of anxiety, and yet Dora merely continues to stare down at him, unblinking, undeterred...

_I, Dora Allison Moody, take thee, Robert Francis Wilde, to be bound to me as my lawful wedded husband..._

And Robert is utterly transfixed, completely awed.

The elation is stifling. It grows yet more difficult to breathe.

"To be by my side...from now until always." Dora recites carefully, slowly, each word pronounced so precisely that Robert finds himself staring at her lips as they move, watching her tongue brush against her teeth, the movement of her jaw...

"For better for worse, for richer for poorer. In sickness and in health." she says, grip upon his hands tightening.

And every syllable slows his heart in his chest, so overwhelmed does he feel, and he thinks he might be dreaming for the world seems to be growing blurry around the edges, her voice seems far away...

And yet he hears her perfectly clearly: I give myself wholly to you. So that I may cherish and adore you. In the presence of our unyielding love...

"Until death do us part." Elsie Blackshaw concludes, and Dora at last falters, a lump in her throat.

Robert watches her throat bob a little as she swallows, and with that Dora leans a little further towards him, her eyes solemn as she at last recites:

"Until death do us part."

His arms feels like a dead weight as Dora lifts their entwined fingers up from where they have lain upon the bed, and the world blurs as Elsie Blackshaw steps forward, reaching into a pocket to draw out her wand.

"...vested in me...Ministry of Magic..."

He only catches snippets, too intent is he on blinking the fog from his eyes as he stares up at the gentle smile tugging at Dora's lips.

"...bind you together...love..."

Love. The most powerful of all magics.

Roberts thinks then that he might know this for sure now, because despite his heavy eyelids, despite the world growing dark and muffled he keeps on blinking, keeps on staring at the smile upon Dora's lips.

He feels the tip of Elsie Blackshaw's wand pressed against his hand and at the sudden warmth in his fingers as a pale glowing light invades his vision, Robert feels as if his heart might stop dead.

Suddenly, the comes a loud crackling and the light disappears in an instant. Robert feels Dora's hand jump a little and yet it doesn't seem like a shock to him...

Nothing feels like anything, not anymore.

"Oh!" Elsie Blackshaw exclaims in agitation, a faraway sound as the light slips from his vision...

"It's not...not supposed to...something isn't quite right..." the registrar babbles, seemingly in quite a flap, and yet all Robert can focus on is the blurring face that leans over him.

And as he feels himself slipping away, Dora smiles, eyes twinkling as she leans ever closer.

"Kiss me then, my love." he hears her whisper as his eyes at last droop contentedly closed.

And as she presses a kiss to his lips she steals his final breath.

**Finish.**


End file.
